My eyes drop to avoid crying. Adam’s always been the one who knows me better than anyone. I should tell him that. That he’s my best friend. That I couldn’t survive this, or even high school, without him. When I look back up to say it, Adam’s moved on. He’s tugging on his earlobe again, mesmerized by the clownfish swimming around the fish tank near the kitchen entrance. “Knowing everything you know now, what would you do if you had the date of the next attack?”

Save the victim. Make Detective Irving listen. Make him promise to rescue the target once the attack starts. No one else can die. Then, I’d go to the location and hide there. When the Initiators delivered the first hit, I’d record it. I would stream it live to every social media site I have so no one could delete my pictures or videos. All my new followers would watch and be disgusted by it. The video would go viral, forcing the FBI to get involved. To take down the mayor, I’d incriminate as many perpetrators as I could, knowing one of them would rat him out—even if that meant exposing Amy London and Ryan. It would force us all to accept the consequences of our actions.

Of course, admitting all of this would only indicate how much time I’ve spent planning this what-if scenario.

I shrug my left shoulder.

“Calling the cops was useless,” Adam says.

I nod, recalling the receptionist’s condescending voice, assuring she’d pass along my message. Whether she did or not, CPD is so corrupt that I wonder if Irving is too. Nothing came of my dad’s attack. He never responded to any of the messages I left for him. My mom likes him. Seems to trust him, but what if he’s one of the bad guys and I’m a bigger fool than I thought?

“You’ve considerately demonstrated the idiocy behind going down there yourself.”

I scrutinize Adam’s expression. He’s never been one for hypothetical talk. He looks perfectly at ease, as if we’re talking about how ridiculous our math teacher looks with her failed attempt at pink-tipped hair. “Where are you going with this?”

Adam sips his Diet Coke. “Nowhere.” He takes another drink. “Just wondering. You ready?” Adam throws money on our bill before I can reach my bag and dig for my wallet.

“You can’t pay for dinner on your birthday.” I didn’t get him a gift. The least I could do is pick up the tab.

He stands, pulling the collar of his designer leather jacket tight against his neck and accentuating how attractive he really is. “Get me next time.” Adam walks off, indicating it’s not up for discussion.